How Scott Stole Christmas
by Matthiamore
Summary: "Every camper down in Campville liked Christmas a lot, but Scott, who lived just north of Campville, did not!" Just a little parody for the holidays starring Scott as the iconic Christmas doubter.


**Just something that's been on my mind for a while. And what better time to write it than now? Of all them TD characters, none would make a better Grinch than Scott!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing that has to do with Total Drama or The Grinch.**

* * *

Every camper down in Campville liked Christmas a lot,

but Scott, who lived just north of Campville, did not!

Scott hated Christmas. The whole Christmas season!

Now please don't ask why, no one quite knows the reason.

It could be perhaps that his shoes were too tight.

It could be that his head wasn't screwed on just right.

But I think that the most likely reason of all

was the fact that his heart was two sizes, two small.

But for whatever reason, no matter how much damper,

he stood north of the town, hating the campers.

Staring down from his cave, with a sour Scott-y frown,

at the warm, lighted windows below in their town.

For he knew that every camper beneath

was busy hanging a holly wreath.

"And they're hanging their stockings," he said with a sneer.

"Tomorrow is Christmas; it's practically here!"

Then he growled with his fingers, nervously drumming.

"I must find a way to stop Christmas from coming!"

For I know first thing tomorrow, all the girls and boys,

will wake bright and early to play with their toys.

And then, oh, the noise, noise, noise, noise...

That's one thing I hate! All the noise, noise, noise, NOISE!

And then all the campers will sit down for a feast.

And they'll feast, and they'll feast, and they'll feast...

They'll feast on fresh pudding, they'll feast on roast beast.

Roast beast is a feast I can't stand in the least!

And then, they'll do something I hate most of all.

Every camper in Campville, the tall and the small.

They'll gather together, with Christmas bells ringing,

and all those campers will start singing.

And they'll sing, and they'll sing,

and they'll sing, sing, sing, sing."

And the more Scott thought of this whole camper sing,

the more he thought, "I must put a stop to this whole thing!

Why, for much too long I've put up with this now!

I must stop Christmas from coming... but how?"

Then he got an idea. An awful idea.

Scott got a wonderful, awful idea.

"I know just what to do," he said with a chuckle in his throat.

"I'll make up a quick Santa Claus hat and a coat."

And with an evil snicker, he said "What a great trick.

With this coat and this hat, I'll look just like Saint Nick."

_You're a mean one, Mr. Scott._

_You really are a heal._

_You're as cuddly as a cactus. You're as charming as an eel._

_Mr. Scott!_

_You're a bad banana with a..._

_Greasy black peel!_

_You're a monster, Mr. Scott._

_You're heart's an empty hole._

_You're brain is full of spiders. You have garlic in you're soul._

_Mr. Scott!_

_I wouldn't touch you with a..._

_Thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole!_

"All I need is a reindeer." Scott looked around,

but since reindeer were scarce, there was none to be found.

But did that stop Scott? "Ha!" he said.

"If I can't FIND a reindeer, I'll MAKE one instead."

So he took his shark Fang, and took some black thread,

and tied a big horn on the top of his head.

Then he got an old sled, against the ice it would bang.

After loading some sacks, he then whistled for Fang.

Then Scott said "Giddyap!" and the sleigh started down

towards the homes where the campers lay a-snooze in their town.

All the windows were dark. No one knew he was there.

All the campers were all dreaming sweet dreams without care

when he came to the first house on the square.

"This is stop number one," the old Scotty Claus hissed,

as he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.

Then he slid down the chimney, a rather tight spot.

But if Santa could do it, then so could Scott.

He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.

Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue.

Where the camper's little stockings all hung in a row.

"These stockings," he snickered, "are the first things to go!"

The he slithered and slinked, with a smile most unpleasant,

around the whole room, and he took every present.

And he stuffed them in bags. Then Scott, very nimbly,

stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimney.

_You're a vile one, Mr. Scott._

_You have termites in your smile._

_You have all the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile._

_Mr. Scott!_

_Given the choice between the two of you, I'd take the..._

_seasick crocodile!_

_You're a rotter, Mr. Scott._

_You're the king of sinful sots._

_Your heart's a dead tomato splotched with moldy purple spots._

_Mr. Scott!_

_You're a three decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich __with arsenic sauce!_

Then he went to icebox and he took the camper's feast.

He took the fresh pudding. He took the roast beast.

He cleaned out the icebox as quick as a flash.

Why, he even took the very last can of hash.

He stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee.

"And now," grinned Scott, "I will stuff up the tree!"

As Scott took the tree, as he started to shove,

he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.

He turned around fast and he saw a small girl.

Sweet little Dawn, with blonde hair in curls.

She stared at Scott and said, "Santy Claus, why?

Why are taking our Christmas tree? Why?"

But you know, that old Scott was quite smart and quite slick.

He thought up a lie and he thought it up quick.

"Why, my sweet little tot," the fake Santa Claus lied,

"There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side.

So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear.

I'll fix it up there, then I'll bring it back here."

And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her head,

and he got her a drink, and he sent her to bed.

And when sweet little Dawn was in bed with her cup,

he crept to the chimney and stuffed the tree up.

Then he went up the chimney himself, the big liar.

And the last thing took was the log for their fire.

On the walls he left nothing but hooks and some wire.

And the one speck of food that he left in the house

was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.

Then he did the same thing to the other camper's houses,

leaving crumbs too small for the other camper's mouses.

_You nauseate me, Mr. Scott._

_With a nauseous, super "naus"._

_You're a crooked dirty jockey and you drive crooked hoss._

_Mr. Scott!_

_You're soul is an appalling dump heap overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of rubbish imaginable mangled up in tangled up knots!_

_You're a foul one, Mr. Scott._

_You're a nasty-wasty skunk._

_You're heart is full of unwashed socks. You're soul is full of gunk._

_Mr. Scott!_

_The three words that best describe you are as follows and I quote,_

_"Stink! Stank! Stunk!"_

The sun was about to rise. All the campers still in bed.

All the campers still a-snooze when he packed up his sled.

Packed it up with their presents, their ribbons, their wrappings,

their food and decorations, their tricks and their trappings.

Three thousand feet up the side of Mt. Crumpet.

He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it.

"Happy holidays to the campers!" he was sarcastically humming.

"They'll be finding out soon that no Christmas is coming!

They're just waking up and I know just what they'll do.

Their mouths will hang open for a moment or two

and then all those campers will all cry 'boo-hoo'!

That's a noise," grinned Scott, "that I simply must hear!"

He paused, and then put a hand to his ear.

And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.

It started out low, then it started to grow...

But wait, this sound wasn't sad.

Why, this sound sounded glad!

Every camper down in Campville, the tall and the small,

was singing without any presents at all!

He hadn't stopped Christmas from coming. It came!

Somehow, it came just the same.

And Scott, with his feet ice-cold on the snow,

stood puzzling and puzzling. "How could it be so?

It came without ribbons! It came without tags!

It came without packages, boxes, or bags!"

He puzzled and puzzled until his puzzler was sore.

And then Scott thought of something he hadn't before.

Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store.

Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more!

And what happened then? Well, in Campville they say,

was that Scott's small heart grew THREE sizes that day!

And then, the true spirit of Christmas came through,

and Scott found the strength of ten Scotts, plus two!

And now that his heart didn't feel quite so tight,

he whizzed with the load through the bright morning light.

With a smile to his soul, he descended Mt. Crumpet.

Cheerfully blowing a tune on a trumpet.

He rode into Campville and brought back the toys.

He brought back the goodies to all the girls and boys.

He brought back their bows, their ribbons, their wrappings,

all their decorations, their tricks and their trappings.

He brought everything back, all the food for the feast.

And he, he himself, Scott, carved the roast beast!

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**Ain't that nice? Even Scott can find the true spirit of Christmas within him. Happy Holidays, peeps!**


End file.
